


Breathe In, Breathe Out (Laugh)

by animatedstardust



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/F, Gen, Gun Violence, No beta we die like Sunset Curve, Not Beta Read, but its gotta be up within the hours of clowngate 2.0, i wrote this in a haze in like... maybe an hour and a half total, idk - Freeform, its a bit of a mess, not really but there IS a gun, or is it the 4th time?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animatedstardust/pseuds/animatedstardust
Summary: Carrie was raised well. She can dance, she always knows how to laugh just right for the situation at hand, and she can shoot a target at sixty meters with a pistol while cartwheeling. Yeah, maybe her childhood was a tad abnormal, but what else would you expect from a deal made before her birth with a guy like Caleb Covington? Money makes the world go 'round, after all.Her first target, Flynn, has the same routine every Saturday. All Carrie has to do is complete the mission. It was not in her plans to catch wayward thoughts when her only job is to- well. She's this close already, might as well finish it.
Relationships: Flynn & Carrie Wilson, Flynn/Carrie Wilson, if you squint
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Breathe In, Breathe Out (Laugh)

**Author's Note:**

> i. i dont know where this came from, but have six pages of assassin carrie, ig <3 enjoy!

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Cold metal against one palm, warm fabric bunched in the other, Carrie moved with the flow of the city. After years of prep and weeks of research, she was so close to her goal she could almost taste the anticipation in the air. But she couldn’t hold her breath.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

It was a steady pattern, learned early on in her life; Carrie was a volatile person by nature, so the rise and fall of her chest was a way to center herself. Staying relaxed is key in this line of business, after all. You either keep calm or end up food for the city’s rats. 

Carrie’d been tailing her target, Flynn [Redacted] for a few days now, getting a closer feel for her relationships with family, friends, and schoolmates. It was odd how she never actively hid her feelings; if Flynn smiled at you to your face, she would keep smiling once you turned away, no exceptions, and the same was true for the opposite. If she didn’t like you, her friends would know, of course, but so would you. She was an open book, metaphorically. Literally, she was giving away her stance on anything under the sun free of charge.

But that was none of Carrie’s business past its applications to the mission, no matter how she found herself wondering what it must be like, to be able to live so freely. It was irrelevant except that it meant she couldn’t rely on a suicide note to get the job done. The operation would have to be flawlessly carried out, which would be tough for Carrie’s very first job. Surely, Covington knew that?

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

That was neither here nor there. It would do no good for her dad’s daughter to get off easy on her jobs, now would it? First and foremost, it was Trevor Wilson’s reputation on the line here.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Carrie slowed to a casual walk once off of the main streets, careful to keep her right hand in the volume of her skirt at all times. Flynn was approaching the Molina household, just like every Saturday morning. It was almost time. All Carrie had to do was wait the four hours before Flynn left again and stopped by the old coffee shop in the square; then, she would take her back alley route home.

Secluded enough to get in and out without notice, close enough to hustle and bustle that a violent mugging isn’t too far out of the question. Perfect.

All that's left to do? Wait.

…

Carrie hated waiting. Always has, always will. A little  reconnaissance couldn’t hurt, right?

She crept around the back of the garage, taking care to duck under the many windows’ line of sight. Laughter and music echoed out the open doors, as did some quite frankly terrible singing. Carrie knew for a fact that Julie, the best friend, could sing better than this. Why would she purposefully sound like an imbecile?

Risking a peak, Carrie edged out from behind the brick wall of the house next door. Yes, it was Julie. She and Flynn seemed to be screeching out the lyrics to one of her dad’s songs with reckless abandon.

Logically, she knew rock music was how the Wilsons originally gained their fortune. Her dad had golden records framed on the wall, for life’s sake. What she hadn’t realized, in all of her research, was that these two teens would be the type to care for it. It was symbolic, in a way, that the very family history bringing them joy today would similarly bring such pain; that is, if it were within the mission parameters to wax poetic. 

Flynn cackled in response to a particularly crude belt from Julie. Such a free laugh, too. Carrie’s muscles eased at the sound of it. The weeks she spent researching Flynn were the best of her life. Don’t get her wrong, learning how to hold a gun and to dance at her trainer’s right hand were great, but there was nothing uncalculated in her training. Music may have begun the Wilsons’ careers, but it was the black market fueling it. Carrie as the perfect little assassin, as unwillingly as it was on her dad’s behalf, could be the cherry on top of their success, but…

But it was just so tiring! Dance was a release, but it was only permitted to learn balance and precision. Flynn, Flynn could be and do whatever she wished! The bad singing was an active choice, the bold clothing did the opposite of blend in, and the laugh wasn’t pretty, wasn’t feminine, but it was sure as heck genuine, and that was more than Carrie could say for the last fifteen of hers. And her trainer may not have described it as pretty, but it was the most beautiful sound Carrie had ever heard if only by the pure delight in it.

“Carrie? Carrie, come in, your heart rate is spiking, do you read?” Covington. Of course she would get saddled with her trainer to oversee her first mission, as if she wasn’t already stressed about this enough. 

She raised a hand to her earpiece. “Caleb, it's fine. Leave me be, will you? Maybe without you hovering every second of the day, I would actually get this job done,” she harshly whispered. 

“Surely, darling,” said Caleb, ”you would prefer some company over sitting alone for a few hours?” Ugh. His drawl never failed to get Carrie in a sour mood.

“No, I would not,” she snapped, “and you would do well to remember this is  _ my  _ mission, not yours, sir.”

A beat passed. “And you,  _ dear _ , would do well to remember just who is running this operation.” Her feed cut out with an abrupt pop. Good riddance.

Crap! She had been standing there way too long, was her cover blown? A quick glance reassured Carrie of her obscurity: Julie was changing the song and Flynn was upside-down on the couch, leather jacket abandoned and dangling from the back cushions. Carrie brushed her spare hand along the edge of her own jacket. It was more for utility than fashion, but blending in was a part of that utility, so it was fashionable. They almost matched.

The four hours were over before she knew it, and Flynn was leaving the Molina household with a hug from Carlos (Julie’s brother: irrelevant to mission, but cute in that younger-brother way) and a punch to the shoulder from Julie. Off to the coffee shop, as always.

Almost there.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

The stretch back to the square was minimal. A brisk walk, a hop, skip, and a jump, and you were there. Back to the movement of the city and the warm air of summer, the traffic of the end of a day nearing and the bursts of cold as you move past entryways. With the sharp smell of coffee drifting ever nearer, Carrie felt the metal biting against her hand more acutely than ever.

And there was that laugh again. Why couldn’t she get it out of her head? Flynn laughed every minute, it seemed; it was no special event, so why did it feel special every time? Why did it feel meant for her?

Maybe it was the willingness with which Flynn laughed, so opposite to the categorized emotions Carrie had under a tight leash. Maybe it was the consistency of it; where Carrie had a different giggle, simper, or snort for every situation, Flynn cackled in the same, gorgeous tone every time. Maybe it was the mystery of never knowing why. Regardless, she couldn’t let this distract her.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Out of the coffeeshop she stepped, orange dress catching the shop’s fluorescent lights. Flynn almost glowed in that moment, a soft blur in a city of double-edged stars all elbowing for more room to shine. Carrie had no room to talk as she was one of the particularly sharp double-edged ones, but maybe the two who weren’t vying for attention could coexist?

What? No, where did that thought come from? She was here for one reason, and one reason only, and that was to-

Where did Flynn go? Drat, she had one job, one measly job, and Carrie wasn’t about to screw it up when she’d gotten this far. It was the same path every day, so it wasn’t too hard to find Flynn again (when did she become Flynn and not ‘the target’? Irrelevant, mission target’s designation is trivial).

Barely two steps away from what might have been safety, Carrie let herself look at her gun for the first time since she had loaded it that morning and drew it from her skirts.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

She took the shot. She turned away. She started walking. She didn’t look back.

“Hey!”

_ What.  _ She whipped back around, gun raised again. Carrie  _ never _ missed.

“Did you just shoot at me?” Carrie raised a brow. “Yeah, stupid question, you’re literally holding a gun right now. Better question: Why did you shoot at me? There is literally no reason to be hostile about this, you don’t even know who I am.”

If nothing else, Carrie had to admire Flynn’s aplomb. She was obviously shaking and her hands were almost white with tension at the seams of her jacket, sure, but she was just as blunt and vaguely flirty as always. But Carrie was reading too much into this.

“Flynn [Redacted], sixteen years old, best friends with Julie Molina, acquainted with the popular band Sunset Curve, daughter of Augusta [Redacted], mafia.” 

Flynn’s stance became more hostile. “Former mafia,” she snapped. “If that’s why you’re here, you can buzz off. Taking me won’t affect her, anyway. It’s not like she stuck around long enough to care about me.”

“Actually, I’m here to kill you,” Carrie leisurely drawled. “And this has nothing to do with your mother.”

She took a step forward. Flynn took a step back; she stumbled. “You- did Covington send you?” Her hands were free of the jacket, now out in front of her as if to placate Carrie.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Carrie’s heart was pounding in her ears. “This is  _ my _ mission. I have to-”

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

“Why is he sending child soldiers to do his dirty work?” Flynn asked. “I am definitely worth more than one assassin chick to take me out, and frankly, you deserve better than to  _ be _ a child soldier, sugar.”

The gun became heavy in Carrie’s hand. “No, I’m not- I’m not-” She dropped her arm. The gun fell to the ground in what felt like slow motion, it’s clattering loud, louder, louder, stabbing through her ears as if it could get rid of those two words. “Child soldier?” No.

“I am not a child soldier,” she said. “I just know how to compartmentalize, this was the only way my dad didn’t have to- I  _ had _ to.” Carrie finished almost desperately. 

The alley was swirling. Oh, God, she had been about to kill Flynn. She was going to kill someone. She still had to kill someone! Dark corners rushed passed the gritty road, except it wasn’t so gritty anymore, it was muted and rising and it had so many shades, so many layers of gray gray gray gray metal gun bullet, what did she just almost do-

“Carrie, your heart rate is spiking. Again. What’s happening?”

Oh. That- that was Caleb. She hated Caleb, right?

“Frick off, Covington,” she managed. “Not the time. Fly- the target is right in front of me.”

Carrie stilled. Right. Flynn was still a target.

“Well, what are you waiting for? This is the optimal time, by your research. Take the shot.”

What if she wasn’t?

“Hon, what’s happening?” Flynn said. She always said whatever she wanted, always did whatever she pleased. Could Carrie do that?

“Wilson, take the shot.”

“Girlie?”

“Take. The. Shot.”

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

“No.”

Carrie yanked off her earpiece, dropped it to the ground, and picked the gun back up to smash it to unidentifiable chunks. 

_ Breathe in. Breathe out.  _

She looked down at her hands, to the cool metal still pressed against her palm, a symbol of what she almost did. She looked up to Flynn from where she was on the ground, barely brave enough to meet her target’s eyes.

And softly, oh so softly, with a tear rolling down one cheek: Carrie laughed.


End file.
